Fairy Tale Anchor Chart Novels & Stories

The little six-year old laughed and followed her mother to the supermarket. "Tell me what you did today at school." her mother asked taking a shopping cart "I drew pictures of Cinderella and I read Cinderella and Rapunzel." she happily told her mother as they strolled along "I accidentally colored Rapunzel's hair brown when it should be gold but she still looks pretty." Her mother chuckled as she placed a few items in the cart. "You like Cinderella and Rapunzel?" her mother asked

He laughed and sealed his lips with his own fingers to demonstrate to Skylar that he was listening to her when she gave him a short look, warning him to remain silent. "Once upon a time, there was a little paintbrush that brought artwork to life! A curious kid took it up one night and used it to paint a lovely dream. The paintbrush sparkled, and the dream flew off the page, taking the child on a magical journey. They chased fireflies, danced with rainbow fairies, and soared over starry sky together. When the sun rose, the child woke up with a smile, knowing they could paint another dream tonight." She told the story, slowing down from time to time.

Aran tugged at Alex’s shirt until he was lifted into his lap, head tucked under his chin. Elian sprawled on the carpet, coloring in a half-finished dragon drawing. “Story time?” he asked sleepily. Alex nodded. “What kind of story tonight?” “Adventure,” Elian said. “But with pancakes.” I laughed. “That’s a recurring theme.” He nodded seriously. “Pancakes make heroes strong.” --- So Alex told the story — his voice low, rhythmic. A brave dragon who learned to make peace instead of war. A kingdom that grew gardens instead of walls.

I kind of needed his spray-painted words of encouragement right now. And when I read the message, I smiled. It was perfect. “Look.” I pointed before I quoted the phrase aloud. “When you have exhausted all possibilities, remember this. You haven’t.” Under the words, a picture of a princess had been painted. She was trying to reach a sleeping knight in a high tower by lassoing the dragon guarding the entrance and throwing a saddle over its back so she could use it as a stepping stone instead of a blockade and ride the beast up to save her lover.

Adnan nodded without the slightest suspicion, with the fear of the woman he thought was his mother. “Mom, I'm already sleepy. Can you read me a fairy tale before bed?" "Fairytale? Of course, I can. Which story do you want to hear? Mother is the best in this matter," he said proudly, even though it was all just bullshit. “The story of a Prince and Princess trapped in a tower. Can?" whined Adnan with sparkling eyes. Fisha smiled faintly. "How about a new story that doesn't exist in any fairy tales?"

I placed my hands on my chin. She smiled, as she rested her head on my laps, and prepared herself for my story. "Okay I remember one. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful fairy. Her name is Bella. She had a beautiful black and long hair, just like yours. And a beautiful set of chocolate brown eyes like yours as well. She was five years old and she had no wings like her other brothers and sisters. Because of it, no one ever liked her..." Thus, I went on and on

Fairytales are the first lies your parents told you. "Most of the time, I still wish my mom didn't leave me." I brushed my hair, keeping my tiny frills from straying to my face. "I always wanted a simple life." "What do I always tell you, kid?" Alice snatched the brush from my hand to continue the job. "Just live the most of your life on what you have. Things happened because they are meant to be." She tapped the tip of my nose and placed the brush over my nightstand. She started braiding my hair. "You look beautiful. You always do."

’ He sniffled. ‘Maybe I can find a way to fix that, too,’ I muttered, scanning the pages of an ancient, dusty book I’d found buried in Moon Chasm’s library. I didn’t find anything. There were old fairy tales, so old they barely seemed recognisable anymore, that spoke of affronted gods casting down their children and making the first wolves. Some were classic tales, like the one about three pups going too near a river and being turned into toads to save them from drowning; others were cautionary tales, warning young wolves away from humans and forbidding any sort of romances between us and them – all in a fun, rhyming sort of way, of course.

Arabella said, smoothing Raina’s messy hair. Raina nodded solemnly. She cleared her throat and began to tell a story about a princess who lived in a castle made of chocolate and had a pet dragon who was afraid of the dark. It made no sense at all, but Adrian and Arabella listened like it was the most important speech in the world. Raina’s story ended with the dragon discovering that the dark wasn’t actually scary if someone stayed beside you long enough. “And then the princess gave him three nightlights,” Raina declared proudly, her eyes already growing heavy with sleep. “One for under the bed, one for the bathroom, and one for emergencies.”

“Or at least, it’s similar to one of his quotes.” She nodded. “Does all of Black Crimson’s art illustrate some fairy tale or another?” I sent her a curious glance. Motioning behind her, she explained. “Well, that one was obviously Rapunzel. And the one before was the Big Bad Wolf, right?” “Holy shit,” I cried, gaping at her before shaking my head and returning my attention to the road. “I think you’re right. I remember another one having some guy leaning over a sleeping woman and one had a mermaid on it, which must be—”